


Safe Upon The Shore

by Geenee27



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geenee27/pseuds/Geenee27
Summary: This was not the reunion she had envisioned. Standing on a pebble strewn beach; the cold, driving rain stinging her skin, causing the tears in her eyes to fall in frozen salty tracks upon her cheeks as she looked off into the wave tossed horizon. Hoping for a body to arrive safe upon the shore. His body.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has created so many wonderful MFMM writing challenges, and curse you, although I really have no one else to blame but myself. These challenges are so much fun it is hard to say no.  
> However, I am not above cheating and have mashed three challenges together.  
> First is the MFMM Year of Quotes 2018 - October (Life Advice): 'Don’t waste time on what might have been.' – Fortune Cookie  
> Second is the MFMM Whumptober 2018 - Hurt the character(s) of your choice. (Blame whopooh and various other suspect associates.)  
> Third is the Great Big Sea Challenge - Write a fic, using a song by the great Canadian band of that name as a theme. I have chosen 'Safe Upon The Shore'. (Blame Firesign and Aurora_Australis ) I will post the lyrics of the song in my notes. Hope you enjoy.  
> (NQS - Not Quiltingmom Safe)

This was not the reunion she had envisioned. Standing on a pebble strewn beach; the cold, driving rain stinging her skin, causing the tears in her eyes to freeze in salty tracks upon her cheeks as she looked off into the wave tossed horizon. Hoping for a body to float ashore. His body.

 

************

Two days earlier......

  
The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher demurred again as her admirer inquired if she would like to join him for a nightcap in his rooms at the Ritz. He, ever the gentleman, dipped his head in acknowledgement of her decision and asked if he might escort her home. Phryne smiled at the dashing man and placed her hand on his arm, assuring him that a car was waiting for her outside. The Marquis bowed over her hand and with not a little regret, watched the raven haired beauty glide away towards the ballroom's entrance. A liveried manservant lightly placed the white fur stole around her shoulders and she was gone. He sighed, _what a magnificent woman._ Even he, who could place riches and kingdoms at her feet, could never hope to enthrall such a beauty.

 

The driver handed Phryne out of the limousine and stood politely, watching her sweep up the steps to the Knightsbridge townhouse, where the door was immediately opened by a butler to allow her entrance. In the foyer, she removed her gloves and smiled tiredly.

 

“Hello Carter, a little late for you to be up isn't it?”, she winked.

 

The tall, gracefully slim older man smiled indulgently as he bowed,”I hope your evening went well, Miss.”

 

“It did, it did, however these parties are starting to all look the same to me. Same people. Same gossip. Used to be so much more exciting when I was younger. I might have preferred a quiet night in and a good book. Am I getting too old, Carter?” A well trained servant knows when to reply and when to move on so he did, “Do you require anything further this evening, Miss?”

 

“No, thank you, I shall retire and see you in the morning,” Phryne replied and then, “ But not too early, goodnight.” Raising her gown slightly, she skipped up the stairway and hurried down the second floor hallway to her rooms at the very back of the house. Their location had the advantage of being as far away as possible from her parent's suite of rooms, where she could count on some semblance of privacy. She swept into her private parlour, closed the door behind her and slid the stole from her shoulders, flinging it across a settee. Within minutes of the haphazard disposal of her various other garments and the completion her ablutions, she was tucked up thankfully in her luxuriously appointed bed.

 

Phryne looked up at the bedside lamp and before shutting it off, reached into the the side-table drawer and withdrew a well thumbed piece of paper that was wrapped around a small silver and blue enamelled broach. She smoothed then reread the telegram and grinned. Only two days now ....

 

 

**********

 

When Phryne finally emerged the following morning, after a lovely lie in and fortified with toast and coffee, she went in search of her parents who were enjoying a late morning cup of tea in the sitting room. She was dressed in a well tailored pair of black wool trousers, white silk blouse and cream coloured shawl, prepared for the cold, wet grey of a English winter day. Her ensemble was also comfortable, perfect for a busy day of appointments and shopping. Lots to do before... she grinned again. Throwing open the room's double doors, she was met with a scene of surprising domesticity. Henry leaned back in his favourite armchair, legs crossed, face in the morning newspaper. Margaret was curled up on a settee, perusing and shuffling papers. A musical program played lightly in the background on the wireless.

 

Phryne's heart gave a little tug; she wasn't convinced that this truce would last, however a moment like this... well ... she would take it. Especially after all the drama of the past few weeks; saving her father from a crazed killer, flying him home half way around the world, and leaving behind, temporarily, a life she had come to care so much about. She would definitely take a moment like this, however precarious.

 

Both parents looked up and returned her smile. Henry then hid back behind his paper; Margaret tidied the papers in her hands and placed them carefully on the coffee table. She shuffled over to made room for her daughter. Both women looked so much alike, sharing many of the same attributes, including lovely porcelain skin and beautiful bone structure. And although there was evidence that the older woman had carried much worry over the years, she was still very beautiful. The mother's hair was also shiny and black as ebony, except where subtle streaks of grey painted her softly falling shoulder length hair, giving her an air of elegance.

 

“I was just going through all this paperwork concerning the estate, Phryne. There is so much to manage, my head is swimming,” Margaret frowned and pushed her hair back away from her face.

 

“Don't worry Mother, that is what the lawyers are for, if and when you have questions. You are an intelligent woman, you will do just fine,” Phyrne placed a hand on Margaret's arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze, ignoring the pointed 'Hurrrumph' from across the room. Let Henry grouch, there was no way he could interfere with the plans Phryne had put in place. She had made sure of that.

 

“When does your ... Inspector arrive again, my dear?,” came the petulant voice behind the paper. Henry was peeved enough that he had not been able to sway the women in his life since arriving home, but with that ... that ... interfering policeman arriving shortly, he could see his window of opportunity firmly closing.

 

“Tomorrow Father, good seas willing. And he is not MY Inspector ... he is a colleague and good friend.” Margaret watched as her daughter's eyes softened a little and tried to hide a small smile as Phryne added, “So you better behave yourself.”

 

“Are you sure you don't want to have him stay here, darling?,'' her mother diverted, her deep blue eyes looking a little hurt. “We have plenty of room.”

 

“I know, Mother, and it's a kind offer, but I think he would be more comfortable at the hotel... as he gets his bearings... and I want to drag him out and show him all of London.” Phryne could not hide her excitement from her mother and the older woman nodded her understanding.

 

Phryne was cautiously, optimistically pleased. Her mother seemed to have grown a bit of a backbone during Henry's latest antics and seemed resolved.

 

And the flare of resentment, that Phryne felt when she thought of how much she and Janie could have used that strength when they were young, was filed away for now. Carrying that debilitating emotion around would just be heavy and poison all the good things she had in her life now. The daughter would never forget, but may someday find it in her heart to fully forgive.

 

As her mother placed a hand on Phryne's knee, the moment was broken with the sudden rustling of newsprint and Henry sat up.

 

“Wait!,” he said throwing up a hand, “Be quiet for a second.” Standing quickly, he crossed over to the wireless, which sat in a corner of the room, and fiddled with the knob that controlled the volume.

 

“ _.... BBC news. A bulletin from the news-wire in France. Report of a fire and explosion on a passenger ship bound for Southampton. No further details are available at this time ... please stay tuned to this station. We return you to your regularly scheduled program._ ”

 

Phryne rose slowly, fear spiking though her, and ran out the door to find a telephone.

 

 

 

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter helps to answer that very important question : Where is Phryne's handsome Detective Inspector friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firesign has requested that I lighten up or she will come over here and hit me with poutine.  
> Canadians .... such drama queens.  
> I hope you enjoy this installment.

Senior Detective Inspector John (Jack) Robinson, his long trench coattails flapping slightly in the light breeze and one hand clasped to the rim of his brown fedora, leaned his free hand on the starboard side railing of the promenade deck and watched the distant coast of France sail lazily by. The RMS Ormonde was steaming past the small village of Goury, situated on the cap de la Hague, where it would soon enter the English Channel proper. He stared at the impressive Goury lighthouse, which at high tide stood surrounded by the grey, green water of the bay. The sea further out from the tall stone structure was dotted with small white caps that gently tossed small vessels as they headed out to their traditional fishing grounds for the day.

 

This was Jack's favourite time of day; early enough to watch the sun rise above the horizon in all its splendid riot of hues. And, if he was honest, early enough to enjoy the peace of a nearly empty deck while most passengers still lay aslumber or were at an early breakfast. He was not adverst to socializing with the various people he had met on the voyage per se; there had been plenty of interesting conversations around games of chess or cards, or over a glass of whiskey.

 

He had even managed to hone his poker skills, as the games he attended were not meant for gambling but rather for the enjoyment of little friendly competition and companionship. Maybe he could entice a **certain** lady poker player to give him a game; he would, however, have to think of a currency that would interest her. Maybe he could surprise her, he did so enjoy doing that.

 

The exercise rooms and reading lounges, the lectures and concerts on board had all been pleasant as well, but... but..., he sighed, after thirty-six days at sea, he was impatient to reach his destination. _Only hours away now...,_ he thought and the outwardly calm exterior he tried to present, as he looked out over this breath taking view, belied how he felt inside. He was churning with anticipation and excitement and... surprisingly... little doubt. This may be one of the biggest risks he had ever taken in his life. But there was no doub. He knew himself better now, and even more importantly he knew her, perhaps better than any other person he had ever known. She was offering him an adventure, an adventure that was as thrilling as it was frightening and he would not look back, regardless of what lay ahead.

 

Memories of a particular piece from the scholar and poet Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rumi, that he had read recently, came to him again. It resonated so perfectly at this moment in his journey:

 

' _I was dead, then alive._  
_Weeping, then laughing._  
  
_The power of love came into me,_  
_and I became fierce like a lion,_  
_then tender like the evening star.'_

 

He was interrupted in his musings suddenly by a jarring shudder of the ship, which momentarily had him swaying and he tightened his grip on the railing so as not to be thrown off his feet. He frowned, that was _definitely_ not a normal manoeuvre for a ship. The seas were relatively calm, so his next thought was that the ship might have hit a shoal. However, they were several nautical miles out to sea so that seemed unlikely.

 

Jack swung his head around to observe the other few passengers, who were out enjoying a morning constitutional. They were looking around in confusion. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed one of the uniformed crew quickly stride to one of the call boxes located throughout the ship, open it and remove a handset. The sailor looked very concerned as he held a heated conversation, then hung up and scanned the deck.

 

Jack placed his palm, fingers outstretched onto the railing and listened. The engines had been cut and the ship was slowing; there was no detectable vibration under his hand or feet. He raised his head to the funnels. The large grey-white clouds of steam that usually puffed out of these tall stacks had abated and as he watched, started to turn a darker grey.

 

Several minutes later, there came a crackle through a deck speaker; the communication system was wired to provide announcements ship wide.

 

“Attention, please. This is your captain speaking. All passengers and crew, please proceed quickly and calmly to your designated marshalling stations. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. All passengers and crew, please proceed quickly and calmly to your designated marshalling stations. Further information will be forthcoming.”

 

Alarmed, Jack jogged over to the crew member, removed his credentials from an inner suit pocket and held them up.

 

“I am a police officer, can I offer my assistance?” The young seaman, in his early twenties perhaps, glanced briefly at the folio and looked back up at the Detective Inspector.

 

“I think it would be best for you to proceed to your marshalling area, Inspector.”, and with that he turned to others who were now surrounding him and demanding answers. Jack knew he was to meet at station 2C, near mid-ship on the boat deck, so headed in that direction, navigating through the streams of people now pouring out onto the promenade deck. He halted when he found the staircases, one lead up to the first class cabins and further to the boat deck. The other staircase led down to the second-class cabins and below that the third-class accommodations. Several crew were trying to direct passengers up the staircase to the boat deck, where the marshalling areas were. The call for people to head straight to their stations was now continuously blaring over speakers.

 

The Inspector found an officer who was waving his arms, directing other crew and caught the man's attention. The credentials were presented again and Jack asked if he could help in any way. This older man nodded his thanks but declined the offer, saying, “Thank you sir, but please proceed to your station,” and turned his attention back to the staircases. Passengers who had previously been lined up in an orderly manner, were now becoming panicky. Noises from the bowels of the ship were rising up the stairwells, contributing to an increasingly louder tumult. Jack could hear the shrill shouts from below, people calling desperately, some unfortunately screaming. And he could hear the crying of children. He looked back over at the officer who had turned away and had one thought, _Nuts to that!_. Then he heard a little voice in his ear. _I agree, Jack,_ it said, also not impressed, and he lifted one corner of his lips.

 

Jack fought against the tide as he worked his way towards the stairway going down. He bumped against people trying to haul all manner of belongings with them. Another crewman tried to stop him. “We are not allowing anyone down, sir.”

 

“I'm a police officer, I can help.” The other man shrugged and let him go. Jack descended slowly, until he had reached the level for third class. He was essentially below the waterline now; there were no portholes, just dimly lit, narrow passageways. He struggled over to an overwhelmed steward who was trying to direct people up, pleading with those trying to haul luggage to leave it behind.

 

Jack laid his hand on the man's shoulder and shouted, “How can I help?” The steward stared at him, wild eyed, than yelled back. “We need to check all the cabins, make sure everyone's out.” The policeman nodded, and just as he turned to head along the corridor towards the stern, the steward pressed a black crayon on him and said. “Empty cabins, mark with an X.” Jack nodded and continued on, noting that many of the cabins had already been checked for occupants and having been deemed empty, had been marked with the black X. He sped on as quickly as he could and started to find unmarked doors. He banged on them fiercely and looked in. They were empty to his relief, so he marked them and moved on.

 

He was almost to end of the passageway when he heard what sounded like a baby crying and hammered on the door of the cabin where he thought the sound had come from. There was no answer, so he pushed it open and peered around the edge. A young woman with a babe in arms was standing between the bunks, holding the hand of a young girl, a toddler really. Fortunately they were already clothed in hats and coats, prepared to leave.

 

The woman was surprised and not a little frightened. She gathered her children closer. Jack stepped in slowly and raised his hands in what he hoped was a non threatening gesture. “You must leave for the lifeboats. “ He gestured to the door and the hallway beyond. She shook her head. “My husband. We wait for my husband.”

 

“Your husband is waiting up top. They are not letting anyone back down. I can help, but you must leave.” He had no idea where the husband was, most likely frantic somewhere on a upper deck, but his immediate concern was to get this family to safety.

 

“Come, please. This way.” He smiled reassuringly, gestureding towards the corridor with his left hand, and beckoning them forward with the other. She froze for a moment longer then did as he asked, climbing over the door jamb with her little ones. He looked around the room again and registered the six empty bunks. It appeared that everyone was gone so he marked the door before gently steering mother and children towards the exit. “Keep going,” he encouraged, and when they were safely delivered to the stewards posted at the bottom of the staircase, he turned and ran back. It took him another several minutes, but having assured himself that this passageway was now clear, he turned the corner and ran into another officer.

 

“We have this deck cleared sir, you should leave.”

 

Jack nodded and turned around to head back towards the staircases. He took a step and heard a loud rumble as the floor was thrust up suddenly before him and he was thrown to his back. The officer helped him scramble to his feet and they ran the length of the corridor, feeling the ship starting to list ever so slightly to starboard. Running on a flat surface that had tilted was difficult, both men kept sliding, but finally they reached the exit. Some of the last few stragglers, who had fallen forward on the steps when the ship shifted, were helped upright, each now quite frightened and some crying. The crew encouraged them all upwards until finally they reached the second class accomodation level. They were waved upwards again, this level having also been cleared.

 

Once on the boat deck, Jack stood calmly and helped direct people to their marshalling stations, where seamen were waiting with life jackets before loading the passengers into the lifeboats. He had had a chance to scan the schimatics of the boat deck early in the voyage, during a safety drill, and had a vague idea as to how each station was numbered. Taking a quick look out beyond the railings, he was happy to see that many of the lifeboats had already been launched and there was a flotilla spreading out around the large ship.

 

Funnels were now belching black smoke into a blue, cloudless sky, confirming Jack's suspicion that there was some sort of fire in one of the engine rooms, or possibly boiler rooms. In the past decade, most ocean going passenger ships had been refitted to use fuel oil instead of coal, to heat the boilers. Sadly, accidents was not unheard of.

 

The lifeboats on the water continued to move away from the large ship, manoeuvred skillfully by two seamen and appeared to be mainly occupied by women, children, and the infirm or elderly. Other crew were working strenuously to load the lifeboats still on the deck.

 

Jack eventually found himself at a post beside one of the lifeboats still hanging from its davits. He watched as two men swung these davits over the side of the ship so that the craft hung just outside the railing. The men then lowered it into position as people crowded around. Jack helped to try maintain order by moving them into a somewhat orderly queue.

 

“Women, children and the elderly first please.” came the loud call.

The Inspector lent a hand to assist them up one by one, step through the gateways at the rail and then hand them down into the bottom of the small boat. When full, the two sailors responsible for navigating the lifeboat once it reached water, stepped in and Jack watched as it was winched down.

 

This process was followed many times as people were assured that there was plenty of room and lifeboats for everyone to get away. Then at last there was one remaining boat to load in Jack's vicinity. The crowd had thinned considerably, it consisted entirely of men and he was optimistically hopeful that all 550 passengers would make it off. And the brave crew.

 

He was observing a man and his two older sons move up to the gate when he heard a shout behind him and saw a woman running towards them, holding a young boy. Jack stepped down and reached out a hand but just before he could grasp hers there was another large rumble and the ship shuddered again. The bouncing of the deck caused the woman to fall backwards and lose her balance. The boy slipped to the deck. Jack watched in horror as the woman grabbed futilely for the railing then topple over it. The child was crying, on hands and knees where he had fallen. Jack grabbed him by the waist and handed him to a crewman. Then he scrambled over to rail where the woman had disappeared.

 

It took no more than a moment for him to jettison his coat and hat and he follow her over the side.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Phryne ever find her blue eyed sailor?

 

It had been 24 hours since the accident. The quiet, sleepy little village of Goury had been inundated with military personnel, emergency personnel and all number of government officials from both sides of the Channel.

Eventually the local officials had closed off the roads to all except essential services.

 

Not wanting to be left behind with the newspaper reporters, the gawkers and thrill seekers at the barriers, the resourceful Miss Fisher, having left the plane in good hands at the local airfield, had hefted her backpack and hiked across country through miles of fallow fields and cows grazing to arrive at the tiny village. She stood along the main dirt road and looked around her. There were only a couple dozen grey stone buildings lining the street and overlooking the beach and sea wall. Built up against the sea wall was a wooden wharf, with simple docks branching off it, all empty. At the foot of the wharf was a small octagonal wooden shelter which housed the lifeboat station. Newly updated, the structure usually housed a motorized lifeboat, however this had been launched as well.

 

Her first priority was to find Jack and that would entail trying to find the persons in charge. The French gendarme where trying to keep order in the tiny hamlet. A small two story structure, a hostel or inn, had been commandeered by officials to use as a base to coordinate the search and rescue. Both the French and English Navy had immediately dispatched ships already in the area to assist in this operation. As they continued to pluck survivors from lifeboats on the water, the military were retrieving those whose lifeboat had beached. With ship to shore and shore to shore communications available, a growing list of passenger and crew survivors was being assembled and disseminated as quickly as possible.

 

A number of fishing and personal craft had also gone out to assist where they could, from both sides of the Channel. A picture was slowly emerging of a coordinated and heroically successful operation. The RMS Ormonde still listed off shore. The fire had been doused in the first several hours, effectively limiting the damage to the hull and boilers. Flooding had thankfully been contained to a few compartments. Pumps were working overtime to keep the ship afloat until which time it could be deemed stable enough for temporary repairs. The ship-line owners and engineers were also looking at the damage and evaluating whether it could be safely towed to Weymouth or Bournemouth or perhaps even Southampton.

 

Phryne's first few hours in situ were an exercise in frustration. She had a difficult time getting answers or access to the inn. She spoke the languages but was dismissed, not being a family member and quite frankly because she was a woman. She was at a loss as to how to get past the gatekeepers at this moment so decided perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone. She desperately needed information and sustenance; there were no cafe's, only the inn which was temporarily closed. The locals were always a good source of gossip so she tugged her red fur-lined cap farther down on her ebony hair, wrapped the her matching fur-lined coat about her and went exploring.

 

She found a small cottage offering hospitality; many a fisherman's or farmer's family had opened their homes to the influx of visitors, to share what little they had. Le Croix-Rouge were desperately trying to truck supplies and food into this remote area of the country as quickly as possible. The little cottage's front room was crowded with people enjoying a cup of tea or coffee. A kindly middle-aged man offered up his seat to Phryne, bowing slightly. She smiled up gratefully. An elderly gentleman in the seat beside her nodded.

 

“ _Bonjour_ ”

 

“ _Bonjour_ ,” Phryne replied back.

 

“Ah, you are English, no?,” his crinkly, tanned face looked at her kindly.

 

“Well, Australian by birth, but I have been staying in England with my parents.”

 

“Why are you here, if you do not mind me asking?”

 

“My friend was on that ship, I need to find him.”

 

“I hear many passengers have been rescued... and crew also.”

 

“That is wonderful,” Phryne smiled bravely, hanging on to that hope. The man squeezed her arm lightly as a woman sat a cup of tea before her and a plate of pastries. Phryne lifted her backpack and withdrew a small purse. The woman tried to wave her away but the lady detective thrust some notes into her hands.

 

“ _S'il vous plaît_ (Please)," Phryne insisted, “ _Donc, v_ _ous pouvez nourrir les autres_ (So you may feed others)."

 

Phryne gazed around the room and pondered how to proceed. Before she had a chance to start the kindly man beside her spoke up again.

 

 

“I am called Paul, and you? Madam... Mademoiselle ?”, he asked, holding out his hand.

 

“Your English is very good” she commented, taking it and adding, “Mademoiselle Phryne Fisher.”

 

“I learned in the trenches, from the brave Englishmen... and Australians also,” he twinkled.

 

“ _Bon, bon_ ,” she murmured, “ _Moi, aussi. Avec le corps d'ambulances francais._ (Myself also, with French Ambulance Corps.)” He nodded, understanding.

 

“Your friend?,” he encouraged.

 

“Also a veteran. I work with him in Australia, he is a police office, a Detective Inspector. He is visiting.”

 

“ _Ah, Oui_ , a colleague you say. _Intrigant._ You work with the police?!”

 

“I am a detective.”

 

Paul nodded his head for a few moments as if this information needed a little time to digest. Then he stood, gestured to Phryne and announced to the room that this young woman was looking for a colleague, an Australian policeman who was on the ship. Others in the room looked at each other, then shook their heads. Paul then encouraged everyone to ask around and keep their ears open for news. The mixture of men and women looked at her with sympathy and nodded. A few crossed themselves and sent prayers skyward.

 

Phryne laid a hand on the man's arm and whispered “ _Merci,”_ and produced a newspaper clipping from her purse as well. She showed her new acquaintance the faded shot of her and Jack in the garden of her aunts property taken by Frederick Burn.

 

“ _Ah, oui, un tres bon ami,_ ” he murmured. She nodded and answered shyly, “ _Oui, tres bon_.”

 

“ _Nous le retrouverons_ (We will find him),” Paul stated matter of factly.

 

Phryne made her way out of the home and was glad to be out in the invigorating fresh air again, she had begun to feel a little drousy in there. Perhaps this would be a good time to hound the authorities again and if she had to lie about her relationship to Jack, so be it. She marched back to the inn and demanded to see a survivors list, to see if her fiance was listed. One of the gendarmes, recognizing her from the previous scene she had made, took pity, told her to wait this time and asked, “ _Son nom?_ (His name)”

 

“ _Jean ... ou Jacques Robinson, de Melbourne, merci,_ ” she said a little frantically, trying not to lose her composure now that someone was actually listening to her. The man went inside the building and she waited impatiently for several minutes. When he returned, Phryne looked up expectantly but he shook his head and explained that even though he could find no one of that name, the lists were still incomplete and to not worry. Phryne nodded sadly at this, thanked him again and drifted away.

 

As the sun slowly lowered to the horizon, Phryne realized she would be searching in the darkness soon so decided to try the homes further along the beachhead. She knocked at each one, produced her photo and explained she was looking for her fiance, an Australian policeman. More sympathetic looks and agreements to pass the message along.

 

When the dark finally defeated her, she trudged down to the beach once again and looked out. The firmament was a black velvet curtain, filled with an endless array of pinpricks of light. But these were nothing more then a blur right now as she looked though eyes filled with emotion. There was no way she would accept he was gone. Not this way. Not after coming all this way. Not after her romantic overture. No. No. No.

 

She bent over and picked up a flat smooth stone which she whipped angrily across the calm water in the bay. It skipped once then sunk with a plop and she bent over again, every part of her being resisting the urge to scream. She heard the crunch on stones behind her and straightened. Paul came up slowly behind her.

 

“I have some news Mademoiselle Phryne,” he said gently. She spun around and looked up and his heart fell at the fearful expectation in them.

 

“Survivor stories are now coming out about the accident and evacuation. Those passengers and crew who have been rescued are speaking to authorities, relatives, news people.” Phryne bowed her head a listened intently. “There is much talk about the brave crew. And there was mention of an Antipodean policeman who was down in the lower levels assisting.”

 

For the first time since she had left on her quest Phryne actually managed a full smile. So like Jack to put himself in harms way, and then she almost laughed and covered her mouth as she remembered all the times he had remonstrated her. Paul looked at her with the concern, the stress was obviously effecting her mental balance.

 

“Do you have a place to stay, Mademoiselle? My wife and I have a spare room... more of a cupboard.” Phryne had no intention of sleeping but perhaps a quick lie down would not go amiss. She was quite frankly exhausted. It had been a mad dash to get the plane prepared and throw some things into a bag. Not to mention the subsequent flight, that sprint across the fields and the search up and down the beach.

 

She replied, “That would be lovely, thank you. I do need to rest for a bit.”

 

Paul offered his arm and they climbed back up to the main street. They passed the inn and again bothered the gendarme for word and again there was no Jack Robinson on the survivors list. The pair headed up the road to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the village. Paul's wife Lilly, a small, grey haired woman, greeted her with warmth and bade her to sit at their modest kitchen table. She placed a large bowl of onion soup before her, with a loaf of freshly baked bread and a cup of cocoa. Paul joined Phryne at the table and wrapped his hands around a teacup.

 

The soup was delicious and they sat quietly while Phryne dunked hunks of bread and savoured it all. As she was finishing, there came a tap at the front door and Paul rose to leave the room, heading into the living area. Phryne stood as well and went to see who it was. Another older man was standing on the front step, speaking in a low voice to Paul. He saw Phryne enter the room and stopped abruptly. Paul looked over his shoulder.

 

“ _Quoi_? (What is it?),” Phryne asked, holding her breath.

 

“It is nothing.”

 

“Tell me, please. Not knowing is unbearable.”

 

Paul stared at her, then moved aside to let this friend come further into the house and closed the door. He introduced the man as Anton, who nodded and doffed his cap. Paul indicated he was to repeat his news to the young woman. He began to speak rapidly of her search for her friend. Everyone in the village and surrounding hamlets now knew of it, Paul and his aquaintances had made sure the story had spread quickly and far.

 

Anton was hearing of many stories, being shared amongst military and civilian alike, who had assisted in the evacuation. Anton thought one or two might be of interest to the woman who was searching for an Australian police officer. One told of a woman who had stumbled over the rail on the boat deck as the ship rocked and an Australian policeman helping to load nearby, went over the side after her. Another told of a lifeboat that had plucked a woman from the sea. The woman had been knocked unconscious by the force of a fall from the ship and did not come to until she was being manhandled into the lifeboat. A man in the water who handed her up was an Australian, they were certain, but they did not know what happened to him as a wave parted him from the lifeboat and he disappeared. The woman was later mercifully reunited with her son, who had ended up in a different lifeboat, and she had retold her story as well.

 

Phryne felt the wind go out of her and she took a step back, _He would be okay_ , _He would have found a way._

 

Paul patted Anton's shoulder, thanking him for the information, and grabbing his pipe and tobacco, stepped back out onto the front walkway and closed the door. As he lit his pipe and took deep puffs, Paul and Anton spoke further; the latter reassured his friend that there were still dozens of small fishing vessels out there looking for survivors. According to rumours, there was still a number of passengers and crew unaccounted for. And the Captain, senior officers and some crew were planning on returning to the RMS Ormonde, to make a thorough search when the ship was determined to be stable.

 

Phryne was sitting on the couch, when Paul returned. She was so tired but undeterred. She looked up.

 

“Do you know someone with a boat I could hire?,” she asked. Paul looked down at her, full of compassion. “There are dozens of boats out there now, they will find him.”

 

“I cannot sit and wait.. do nothing.” She raised her arms and barked, more harshly then she meant. Her heart was so heavy and she wanted to lash out.

 

“Is this friend of yours as stubborn as you are?,” he said, attempting to distract.

 

She huffed at that, “Yes.. yes he is, but he thinks I'm reckless too. Complains about it quite often.”

 

“Ah, then, if he is stubborn he will find his way to shore.”

 

Phryne pursed her lips and stood. “I feel the need to take some air and stretch my legs.”

 

“Would you like company?”

 

“No thank you, I just need to clear my head for a bit.”

 

Phryne wrapped herself up in her warm coat again, borrowed a warmer woollen hat and gloves and stepped out into the cool October evening. She wandered in the direction of the inn again and the beach beyond. The cool air frightened her. As a nurse she had seen the results of hypothermia and she did not want to think of what Jack might be going through the longer he was out there. She looked up into the black sky and remembered the shooting star they had shared not too long ago. She wished again, this time to bring her friend back safely.

 

In the weeks they had been separated, Phryne had come to terms with how much she enjoyed their time together and how much she missed him. The challenging wit, the laughter, the tears, the danger, the thrill of the hunt. The long, intimate conversations over a glass of whiskey or game of droughts. She had never met a person quite like Jack Robinson and their connection felt so visceral that the loss of his presence for a length of time felt at times painful. She was not ready to let him go. Not now. Perhaps not ever...

 

After checking that there was no news, she wandered down to the beach again and stared out to sea. Rain had started to fall lightly and the wind began to pick up.

 

She put her head down and let the tears fall, although it felt like a betrayal, of not being strong enough... of being resigned to their fate.

 

_This was not the reunion she had envisioned..._

 

There was silence for a long time, broken periodically only by the rhythmic patter of raindrops or the distant voices of men that carried over the water from the pier.

 

Then she heard the sound of a small engine chug chug chugging in the dark and soon a light appeared at the head of the seawall. A small fishing vessel was rounding the rocky outcrop and as it came closer, appeared to be towing another smaller craft behind it. In tandem, they slowly came around the bend and glided towards the wharf. Men came down the dock to grab lines and both vessels eventually came to rest against the pylons.

 

The lighting along the dock was dim and threw everything into shadow. A figure stepped out from the interior of the cabin on the forward boat and called up to the others on top.

 

Phryne froze. There was a flurry of activity as one of the men on the dock yelled down to the lifeboat station and the only word she registered was “ _Corps.”_ (Body)

 

A second man stepped out of the boat's cabin and in silhouette helped the first man lift a shrouded object from the boat's deck up to two others on the wooden wharf. Phryne felt sick but kept staring.

 

A third man emerged from the shadow of the cabin and was helped up over the waist high side of the boat to the wooden platform, with what looked like a blanket around his shoulders. Her heart had stopped, then it began to beat again fiercely. _That... profile..._ Although partially obscured under a woollen cap... she knew it... by heart... and the heavy clothing under the blanket did nothing to disguise that familiar fluid, athletic grace as he lept up.

 

Phryne nearly cried aloud as she tore up the beach and took the step from the sand to the wharf in one long easy leap. She pounded down the planks, making enough noise so that the men gathered there startled and looked around. She ignored their calls. She ignored their move towards her. She ignored their protests. She headed straight for her blue eyed sailor and launched herself into his arms; he had witnessed her flight and held them open.

 

She held on for dear life and crushed him so fiercely that he swayed and another man held both hands out to hold them up. When she was sure he was solid, corporal, she pulled back just enough to lay her nose on that beloved nose. His face was salt crusted, smeared with fuel oil and there was a bruise under his right eye and she didn't care a whit as she buried her face against his cheek. She breathed him in, the oil, the dirt the salt, the fish. She didn't care.

 

“This is a nice surprise,” he finally managed to murmur roughly against her ear.

 

“You have no idea,” she murmured back, trying to get impossibly closer.

 

“Couldn't wait?,” he teased, breathing against her cheek.

 

“You are in so much trouble Jack Robinson, you are going to have to come up with something pretty good for me to ever... ever... forgive you,” Phryne whispered in faux ire.

 

“Ah... well then... I'll need a plan.”

 

She found his mouth and the man was without a plan for quite some time.

 

 

Epilogue ********

 

Jack's eyes blinked open slowly, the room was still and dark and he was tucked up amongst sumptuous layers of luxurious bedding. It was warm and snug and he had sunk incredibly deeply into the most comfortably soft mattress he had ever slept on. He tried to raise a hand to pull down the layers of blankets and duvets so he could peer over, but it would not budge. He tried to shift and realized there was a dead weight lying across him completely, from chest to toe. Admittedly a deliciously smooth, delicate, and naked dead weight - sprawled all over him, arms and legs flung, pinning him down.

 

He tried to shift again, and finally the warm, soft weight complained and threw arms and legs out to stop his attempt to escape.

 

“I can't move,” he tried gravelly.

 

“I know,” came the mumble.

 

“What if I need to,” he looked down at the top of a messy black haired head.

 

“Humph, I might consider it... only if it is absolutely necessary.”

 

“What about food... drink... call of nature?”

 

“I'll decide on a case by case basis.”

 

“Speaking of my job...”

 

“Shh.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Safe Upon The Shore"  
> A girl upon the shore did ask a favour of the sea;  
> "Return my blue eyed sailor boy safely back to me.  
> Forgive me if I ask too much, I will not ask for more,  
> but I shall weep until he sleeps safe upon the shore."
> 
> As though the sea did hear her plea, a vision did appear,  
> the drifting tip of some wrecked ship came floating ever near.  
> A figure there did cling to it, approaching more and more,  
> as if to ride on some strange tide, safe upon the shore.
> 
> So give a sailor not your heart  
> lest sorrow you do seek;  
> let true love not be torn apart  
> by favours from the sea.
> 
> My love, she cried as she a spied the figure on the spar,  
> his clean white shirt was drenched and torn, he must have floated far.  
> She thought with bliss how she would kiss the lips she did adore,  
> and oh, how sweet to see his feet safe upon the shore.
> 
> So give a sailor not your heart  
> lest sorrow you do seek;  
> let true love not be torn apart  
> by favours from the sea.
> 
> As she drew near, she felt the fear that something was astray.  
> His mouth was slack and his blue eyes stared blindly at the day.  
> And in a daze, she turned her gaze from the corpse the driftwood bore,  
> and the cold cold sea pushed ruthlessly, safe upon the shore.
> 
> So give a sailor not your heart  
> lest sorrow you do seek;  
> let true love not be torn apart  
> by favours from the sea.
> 
> Now fishermen, they cast their nets like miners pan for gold.  
> And sailors push off from the docks and pray the gales will hold.  
> The sea just sits silently, but sometimes, she does more.  
> And someone weeps as her love sleeps safe upon the shore.


End file.
